


dear catastrophe waitress

by openended



Category: Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're shadows, people like them, passing in the night without ever really connecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear catastrophe waitress

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the SG-1 episode "Memento Mori." And as far as Supernatural goes, sometime after "Let It Bleed."
> 
> Prompts: _appreciate, generous_

She brings him pie, and that’s really all that matters.

Well, she brings him pie and doesn’t ask why he’s been sitting in this booth for four days straight. And when she turns around, sauntering away with his order or an empty glass of Coke for a refill, well, he _is_ human and male. The view’s nice from the front, too.

She’s all grins and bubblegum and plastic clips in her hair, but he’s been in his line of work for too long to not spot someone who’s running from something, even underneath all the sunshine and bouncy hair. She’s good at faking it, but he’s better. Her eyes never linger on anything, constantly moving, looking for something out of place.

He comes in late one night, near to closing time, and slides into his regular booth (he needs to get the hell out of this town if he’s been here long enough to have a regular booth). She brings over a slice of pie without him even asking; cherry, with a scoop of ice cream on the side. He offers her a smile in thanks – they don’t say much, both able to recognize a suitcase full of secrets and know when not to dive too deep – and notices that she looks more shook up than normal. Halfway through his pie, he realizes he’s the only one in the diner. Sal’s about to close, but this place should have a few more patrons lingering over their pie and coffee before they convince themselves to drag on home.

She watches him scan the diner, expertly playing spot-the-problem without ever looking over his shoulder, as she refills ketchup bottles behind the counter. He switches his fork to his left hand and his right drops to his hip, acting like nothing’s wrong at all while checking that his gun’s where he left it. She’s had enough of guns for one day, but she thinks he’s probably a good guy. Bad guys don’t usually order pie, or tip anything more than change to the nearest dollar.

He drops a five and two ones on the table when he’s done – pie’s two-fifty and ice cream an extra dollar; whatever happened earlier, she deserves the hazard pay – and leaves with nothing more than a nod. He’ll leave tomorrow if the monster hasn’t showed up by noon; he’s wasted enough time here as it is.

The bell over the door tinkles and he turns. She’s standing silhouetted in the doorway, half-in, half-out. It’s a stance that fits her and for the briefest of moments, he wonders if she’s who he’s here to gank. He decides against it. Monsters sure are pretty sometimes, but they’re a lot more confident in who they are.

“You wanna get out of here?” It’s impulse; he doesn’t want any connections in Colorado Springs, doesn’t want any connections at all, really. Not even temporary ones, not anymore. Once the offer is out of his mouth, he almost wants to take it back. But he’s been lonely, and thinks she’s been lonely too.

She looks over her shoulder and says a few words he can’t hear, talking to Sal still inside counting out the register, and then turns back to him. The door shuts behind her and she walks down the few steps to the sidewalk. He gives her his coat; it’s not too cold, but that skirt of hers is short.

His car is perfect, black and sleek and lived-in. She runs her fingers over the smooth seats as he drives them to his motel without question. She rolls down the window and the wind whips through her hair, blowing strands across her vision as they speed out of town. He turns up the radio, something from decades past that he knows all the words to, and she watches him try not to play along with the drums on the steering wheel when the song hits the chorus. She leans back in the seat and closes her eyes, lets the music and the air and the night wash over her. It’s almost enough to forget today, forget the flashes and the anxiety, the uncertainty of what the hell is going on.

He leaves the lights off when he opens the door to the room. It’s not much and there’s a bloody shirt in the trash from two days ago; and, anyway, neither one of them needs lights to do this. He undresses her slowly, thumbs running over scars and bruises and muscles that have no business being on a diner waitress. 

She traces his tattoo with her fingertip and is the first woman not to ask what it means.

They fall onto the bed, covers still thrown back and askew from this morning – the _do not disturb_ sign hangs on the door, permanent on account of the bloody shirt and a few guns – and she hooks her leg around his hip. She grins in the moonlight, unreserved for the first time since they met, and he lets her flip him onto his back. The view’s even better without the dress.

* * *

She’s gone when he wakes up in the morning. He shouldn’t have expected anything else – they’re shadows, people like him and her, they don’t exist around each other for more than a few moments – but he does wonder how she got back to town. Learned paranoia gets the best of him and he checks the room, making sure everything’s exactly where it should be. The soap’s on the other side of the sink, the only indication she was ever there.

He yawns and rubs a hand across his face as he turns on the shower. The pipes creak and he decides that it’s officially time to leave Colorado; no sense waiting until noon. 

He drives past the diner on the way out of town because he hasn’t decided yet if stopping in to see if they’ll let him buy an entire pie to go is pathetic or the best idea he’s ever had. There’s a black SUV parked neatly by an expired meter and even though his decision was about to shake out on the side of “best idea he’s ever had,” he keeps driving. Getting involved in whatever nonsense that heralds is not on his to do list.

The next time he’s in Colorado Springs, he, Sam, and Cas stop at the diner because they need dinner and Dean wants pie. Val’s gone, which doesn’t surprise him – people like them tend to disappear when black SUVs are involved. But the pie’s still amazing.


End file.
